Rainbows of Grey
by cheertennis12
Summary: "Sometimes the pain of acknowledging your violation to the world was far, far worse than finding your own private ways to cope. But could never admit that you'd been there and chosen the easy way out because that meant it became real for you too." / Rollaro, Post Spousal Privilage, STORY 2 OF SERIES
1. Chapter 1

**As promised, I'm back with more Rollaro! This is a continuation of Twenty-Four, but a standalone as well, written all in Amanda's POV. Will either be a two-shot or a three-shot, depending on what happens in the next chapter. **

**Would love to hear your opinions!**

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><p>To say these last few days had been rough would be the understatement of the year. Rough for your squad and for your relationship and especially rough for the feuding angels and demons inside your head.<p>

Sleep had been fleeting since that night at the bar. You'd grown accustomed to falling asleep with someone beside you, especially on those nights where a case weighed heavy on your mind and you just needed some sense that you weren't alone in the world. As you toss and turn on a mattress that was far too big to not be shared, you can't stop thinking of Paula Bryant, how she's falling asleep alone tonight for probably the first time in years, and your brokenness over what you've done to her far overshadows your personal heartache.

You understand her fight all too well. It was a desperate grasp to hold on to some sense of dignity, because if you tell the world the abuse is happening, you have to face it. You'd seen the agony that victims went through in naming their accuser on the stand, and sometimes, it's just not worth it. However hypocritical it may be to admit as a Special Victims detective who's primary job was to push justice, sometimes the pain of acknowledging your violation to the world was far, far worse than finding your own private ways to cope. But could never admit that you'd been there and chosen the easy way out because that meant it became real for you too. So instead, you'd managed to piss off your boyfriend, your partner, and your boss in a gallant attempt to advocate for a victim without revealing the story behind your stance.

Good job, Rollins.

And then there's Nick, and the fuzzy memories of your pathetic show of inebriation from the night before. You wish he could just understand your perspective without you actually having to open yourself up to telling him about your own dabble in victimhood that wasn't worth pursuing. The program was still your saving grace, and those damn twelve steps had weighed heavy on your mind after you sobered up. _"Make amends"_ and _"admit your wrongdoings"_ and oh, the silence was not your friend tonight. You're angry, and you're confused, but you miss him.

_"Are you sleeping?"_ You pick up your phone and type out the text, your finger hovering over the send button until you finally swallow hard and take the plunge. You set your phone face down on your mattress and will yourself not to think about what could be happening on the other end.

Your heart skips a beat when the vibration echoes onto your pillow, and you can't grab your cell fast enough. "_Not really. You're not either?"_

_"Do you want to come over?" _This time you hold your phone tightly, scaring yourself through all of the possible ways he could be composing his rejection.

_"Do you want me to?"_ Damn him for leaving the decision up to you when you'd already swallowed your pride and stepped out on a limb to offer the proverbial olive branch. He was going to make you work for this.

You type and erase, and type and erase, and you're secretly a little satisfied in knowing that those three anxiety-inducing bubbles were probably driving him crazy while waiting for your response. You finally settle on the truth without the games you know will inflate his ego. "_I think we need to talk."_

_..._

Holden March had changed things for you. Even before Thursday night's explosion, you'd already gone from barely giving him enough time to shut the door before jumping him in a wild ride of passion, to now, 45 minutes after he'd accepted your pseudo-invitation, ushering him inside and realizing that you hadn't quite thought through what you wanted to happen after he was inside your apartment. What used to be such a sweet port in the storm for both of you had turned into a cascade of anger and hurt and awkwardness, and you weren't sure where to go from here.

You pour a glass of water for yourself, and offer him one too, which he gladly accepts. Liquor is what you would really kill for right now, but you know that hard conversations under the influence never promote a good outcome for the two of you. You settle down on the couch, and he takes a seat on the chair beside you. He's close, but not too close. The conversation is light and safe for a while, about Frannie and Zara and how mutually annoyed you are that Carisi bough the cheap stuff instead of the Starbucks when it was his turn to restock the coffee supply.

You wish you could keep it this way, but you know you can't, because avoiding the elephant in the room is doing nothing for either of you. You'd love to curl up and fall asleep with him, saving the hard questions until the morning, but you know the tension is too thick for either of you to relax in each other's presence.

"Hey, I, ah… the other night, at the bar. I was drunk, I wasn't thinking clearly." You stutter out your half-apology with a shrug. Because even though you know you were in the wrong, you still don't think he was right either. You shouldn't have pushed him for a reaction he was fighting so hard not to give, but he needed to drop the rock and understand that he wasn't God's savior to poor, defenseless women either. Not all women were defenseless, and not all of them needed Saint Neck to come to their rescue. Paula didn't want to be saved, and neither did you.

"I know you were. I just…" He sets his glass down on the coffee table, and any other time, you would have chided him for not using a coaster, but that's the least of your worries right now. He runs a hand across his face and lets out a deep sigh. "We've disagreed on cases before. All the time, and it's never been like this. I guess, I don't understand why this is such a big deal to you."

"Do you still think we did the right thing?" You answer his question with one of your own.

"With AJ and Paula? Absolutely. She and her son are safe tonight. We did our jobs." Nick reminds you like the past four days never happened. Like you didn't spend the last week fighting, or humiliate yourself in a drunken argument at the bar, or greet each other like total strangers when you brushed against each other at the communal coffeepot.

"She didn't seem to think so." You sadly muse, more to yourself than in a response to him.

"We did our jobs, Amanda." Was he always so patronizing, or have you just never paid attention before? "Just because she didn't think so doesn't mean it wasn't the right thing to do."

"I just… Paula didn't see herself as a victim. She didn't want this, doesn't that mean anything? It's her life, what gives us the right to decide what's best for her? It's just making her a victim all over again… Some of us don't want to be victims; it's easier just to… move on and deal with it your own way. Sometimes the whispers and the stares are more damaging than the abuse itself." You shrug, because you know; you'd made the mistake of opening your mouth in Atlanta. You can't shake the guilt you're feeling right now, and you wish that Nick could just acknowledge that this case might not be quite as open and shut as everyone seems to insist.

"Us? So now you're a team, huh?" He says it with a smile, as if to indicate that he's telling some sick, ill-placed joke, but you're not playing around. You'd slipped up by pluralizing your argument, and you sure as hell weren't going down that road with him tonight. Or ever.

"We ripped a family apart. How can you think that's okay? She never asked for this." Suddenly, the tone of your discussion shifts. You'd started off with a perfectly civil conversation, the most civil one you'd had about this case since Fin stumbled upon the parking garage footage the week before. But now, you were getting fired up, because you'd made the mistake of once again letting this get personal.

"You know these cases aren't always black and white, but these guys, you know… there's a pattern. He would have escalated—" Nick tries to justify his paternalistic train of thought, but you're not having it, so you cut him off right there.

"What, now we can convict people on the hypothetical? We haven't _seen_ any escalation! She said it was one time, and that's all we ever had any any proof of! Maybe he was controlling… verbally, emotionally abusive…. but the decision should be Paula's. It's her life!"

"He hit her, Amanda. That's all there is to it." It was true what they said, that men thought in black and white while women lived in a rainbow of greys.

"It's a private matter between Paula and her husband! How would you feel if people made assumptions about you and Maria based on how we've all seen you argue in the squadroom. Because believe me, Nick, we've _all_ heard you. Better yet, you and I fought at the bar last night; how would you feel if one of those bystanders had videotaped it, put it online… _'NYPD detectives in domestic dispute'_, all over the news, huh? And everyone was blaming you." You jabbed a finger into his chest to articulate your point.

"Yeah, but I never touched you." Nick shook his head in disbelief.

"But what if you had? What if you'd lost it on me the same way you did on Simon Wilkes? I gave you every reason to. If you had hit me, even _after_ I touched you first, would you want everyone calling me the victim? AJ has a temper; so do you! So do I!" You weren't drunk this time, you were just angry.

"Yeah, but AJ got physical with Paula. That's assault, on tape, you can't argue that." He insisted again.

"That's not the point! I'm not even arguing with you that Paula was abused. Get that through your head, Nick. I saw the same video you did; I just don't think it's any of our business what goes on in their relationship unless Paula asks for our help! If this was a rape case, would we still be dragging her through this even if she didn't want to press charges? Why did we have to force our way into this?!" Your arms are flailing at this point, and you're upset, and Nick just. doesn't. get it.

"He didn't just hit her, 'Manda. He punched so hard he knocked her out. You saw him dragging her to their car. How can you tell me that we should just stand by and let that happen? That there shouldn't be consequences for that?"

"So if a man hits his wife, he deserves to go to jail. But if _you_ hit another man, almost _kill_ him, then you're okay after a few anger management classes? That sounds like a double standard to me." As soon as you bring up Simon Wilkes, you almost wish you hadn't.

"_You_ blackmailed Wilkes' wife into dropping the charges! I never asked you to! I never asked for your help!" He explodes, standing to his feet.

"I did it for you! I fought for you because I cared about you, and you weren't going to do it for yourself!" You mirror his stance, rising up off the couch and getting back in his face. Was he really choosing to reveal this resentment _now_, all these months later? You'd put your career on the line for him, and it meant nothing. You meant nothing.

"And neither was Paula." Nick snapped back.

"You're a damn hypocrite, Nick! What did you want me to do, let you spend the next twenty years in jail? You were pushed, and you snapped, but does that mean you don't deserve to see your daughter grow up?! _You _got another chance! Paula _told_ us that she provoked A.J., does that mean he deserves to lose his family while you just got off scot-free?"

"What's this really about, Amanda? Your sister? What happened in Atlanta?"

"Shut the hell up! You don't know _anything_ about Atlanta!" You shriek.

"And who's fault is that?" It's yours, and you know it, because you've never let him in.

The involuntary tears begin to sting your eyes, and you fight with everything you have not to let him see that he's gotten to you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the awesome response to my first chapter, everyone! Sorry it's taken longer than intended to get this chapter up... This will probably end up being four installments (you want all four, right? ) but I have the last two pretty well mapped out. **

**Seeing your reviews pop up in my inbox serious makes me day! **

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><p><em>"Detective Rollins, we're going to need you to speak up." One of the men in front of you leaned forward and adjusted the recorder.<em>_You cleared your throat and closed your eyes, a flush of humiliation flooding across your face. "I said, I would like to drop my complaint against Deputy Chief Patton... I'd, um… had a few drinks that night and its possible that I may have... acted in a way that was misleading, or misinterpreted some of his actions. I'm sorry for any trouble I may have caused, and this matter does not need to be pursued any further." _

The words had tasted like vinegar on your tongue, and they were all a lie. You weren't that far gone, you didn't misinterpret _anything_, but you'd gotten in over your head and no way in hell had it been worth it.

Men in power, they're untouchable, and it doesn't matter what really happened – it was always your young, pretty, blonde word against his decades of respect and authority. You'd been determined to practice what you preached, to use your own experience to model that a woman should never be afraid to speak out against injustice, and now, you were made a victim all over again when your own system failed you_. "It's not worth pursuing" _your superiors recited constantly whenever a case was too weak or lacking evidence or they just didn't consider it worth their time, and it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. You wished that you'd just suffered in silence because the abuse of the system was almost worst than anything else had been. You could figure it out yourself. You could execute elaborate schemes to avoid the Deputy Chief, but what you couldn't do is deal with the harassment and the publicity and the persecution once word got out that you'd filed a complaint against _The_ Charles Patton. It hadn't been worth it, not at all, and you should have known better than to think that the high-ups in the Atlanta PD would believe the word of a tipsy detective with a reputation over one of their own drinking buddies.

You toughed it out for a Georgia summer. Three months of snickers and stares and feeling like a stranger in your own home. The squad, your friends that used to banter with you as 'one of the guys' now treated you with little more than winked laughs of "Don't buy Rollins a drink; you might be next," and "Be careful, man, Amanda might think you're coming on to her." Word had gotten out, as it always did.

But thank God for Sam. Even though was his advice that had gotten you into this mess in the first place, the unadulterated belief in your story when you'd called him freaking out and the subsequent "_Amanda, you really really need to report this to IAB" _that had convinced you to disclose, he was still your saving grace in that season. He'd pushed you to pursue, and picked up the pieces when it all fell apart. One of his old buddies, a man named Cragen, was the captain of Special Victims in New York City and was looking to add some more estrogen to his squad. He offered you a way out, a fresh start, and as much as you didn't want to leave your roots, you couldn't stay.

So you came here, you never told anyone why, you did your best to let it go.

…

"_Amanda_," Nick grabs your attention when he calls your name sharply, and you realize just how far you've allowed your mind to wander. For a brief second, you contemplate telling him exactly what you're thinking. Exactly why this case has become so delicate, so personal, and that you see so much of yourself in Paula. You wonder if he might understand, because after all, he's different. On the other hand, you've seen the way that Nick looks at that girl in the interrogation room as he hands her a cup of coffee and promises that she's going to be okay and y'all are going to catch the bastards who did this to her. Pure pity, and you're not going to have any of that. It's over and done, and that chapter doesn't need to be reopened.

Even worse, you don't want him to think this little tryst you two have going is something that could ever be confused with Atlanta, or that you're the kind of girl who's going to cry foul whenever shit hits the fan.

Never mind.

You quickly stuff your emotion back in it's neat little compartmentalized box and prepare for this to get even uglier. It's easier than facing what really lies underneath.

"It's nothing. And even if it was, it's still none of your business." You tell him with an unmistakable firmness that masks the shaking in your voice.

"None of my business?" He laughs bitterly. "But _my_ life and _my_ marriage are _your_ business?"

His _marriage_. Oh, how those words stung. Of course Nick was still married, but you preferred not to think about it that way. The only things still tying him to Maria were a piece of paper and a seven-year-old; the emotion and commitment were long gone. That's what you told yourself, anyways, but did Nick still see it that way? You'd had your fair share of regrettable decisions in your days, but you did draw the line somewhere. Doing the tango with a married man was not exactly your cup of tea, but maybe that's what you've been doing all along.

"Your _marriage_?" Oh, come on Nick." You scoff in disbelief. "I'll let you in on a little secret. You're the only one who thinks you still have a marriage."

If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under and Nick would be proudly standing over you with the shovel. You watch as he clenches his fists, and draws them slightly upwards. For a brief moment, you almost wonder if he's about to hit you, and you're almost a little disappointed when he doesn't, because it would just further the point you'd been trying to make – that accidents happen, or something like that.

You're not really even sure of your own point anymore. Considering your background and your own family, one would expect that you'd be at the forefront of the crusade against a man who terrorized his household and took advantage of a woman. But, you did side with her, that was the thing. What AJ did was inexcusable, you weren't arguing that, but when you're the one who is violated, you should get to call the shots. The choice to start on the path was taken away from you, but you should get to choose just how many steps you take down this route. It's the only thing that could ever be fair.

"Hey, you leave Maria out of this." He raises his voice, and shakes his finger, and you shudder a little bit. _I'm not scared of him, I'm really not, _you remind yourself over and over, but his tone and his nonverbal are frighteningly reminiscent of that night that you found out Patton had been informed of your allegations. _"You little bitch" _and_ "Do you really think they're going to believe you?" _and_ "Darlin', you're going to wish you never started this."  
><em>  
>"Oh, is that what happened?" You say with a smirk. Although, fully aware that you're just egging him on now, laying it on thick is your welcome distraction. "Maria wouldn't roll over for you? Play damsel in distress and let you swoop in to rescue her? I'll tell you what, Nick. This might come as a shock to you, but not all women need to be saved. Not all women need <em>you<em> to save them."

"Okay, _you…_" He shakes his head and runs a hand across his face before shoving his finger back in your face. "You have a serious problem, you know that?"

"Yeah, and you can't stand it, can you?" You barely let him finish his thought before you butt in, full force. "You can't fix your marriage, and you can't fix Paula, and you can't fix me."

He stares at you with his chest heaving, and you glare right back. Once again, you resist every urge to cry uncle and grovel at his feet, begging his forgiveness. You asked him here to resolve things, to find solace in each other from a case that had left you both rattled and confused, not to revisit the explosion from the night before. You wanted to clear the air and be assured that everything was okay between you two, then to fall asleep in his arms, maybe with some extracurricular activities thrown in the mix if you were lucky.

_Talk to him, Amanda. Just talk to him. Tell him what's going on. It's Nick; it's just Nick. He's not like those guys in Atlanta. He's going to understand. _You can feel your expression softening as you fight the pit in your stomach and the lump in your throat. _It's okay. He's safe. He's not going to hurt you. You're okay. You can do this. _

"I'm not doing this anymore." He mutters as he finally throws up his hands in surrender and walks out the door, shaking his head in disbelief.

You have a knack for ruining everything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wanted to wait until last night's episode to post this, just to see if it would reveal some more details I could sneak in. WOW that promo... Never thought I'd say this, but Christmas and New Year's can hurry up and be done so we can get more SVU!**

**Please let me know your thoughts!**

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><p>Three weeks later, you find yourself slumped at your desk, resting your head on your elbow and making every attempt to hold your sleep-deprived drooping eyes open.<p>

You bite the cap of your pen and fixate your eyes on a more appealing, but exponentially more complicated subject than the DD5's in front of you: Nick Amaro. His hair was thick and messy, and his chiseled jawline was decorated by a few days of unshaven scruff. It was his first day back at work after he'd taken a couple weeks off following your little dispute and flown back out to California to see Zara for Thanksgiving. Benson was the one to offhandedly inform you of his newly scheduled absence, in the context of creating more work for you in picking up his slack. He didn't even have the decency to mention it to you himself, but then again, why would he?

You'd missed him, and you wonder if he felt the same.

From where he sits at the desk across from you, Fin emphatically clears his throat, and it startles you out of your trance. You snap your head up to find him grinning at you.

"What?" You groan in clear annoyance, trying to cover your embarrassment at being caught staring at your coworker. Because that's all Nick was to you at the moment - a coworker. He wasn't your friend, your boyfriend, or your confidante. You'd spent the last three weeks simply coexisting, and it was killing you.

"Nothin'..." Your partner smiles across his desk and shakes his head. You return your gaze to the pile of paperwork in front of you, fighting hard to feign concentration and ignore the gravitational pull of your eyes back to Nick.

You continue to chew on your pen, and tap your fingers against the cold metal of your desk until Fin once again grabs your attention. He bites his lip, and you can tell that he's choosing his words carefully, but you're nervous about what is about to come. Although your suspicions had long told you that your relationship wasn't as secretive as you would have liked it kept, Fin was the only one to verbalize his misgivings. If it had to be anyone, you were glad it was him, but that still didn't mean you were willing to engage in a conversation about your floundering office relationship.

When he finally speaks, he lowers his voice, protecting you both from the nosy ears and bustle of the squadroom. "Listen, I meant what I said about takin' people from this job home with ya... But 'Manda, I hate to see you miserable like this."

"I'm fine, Fin," You quickly insist, if for no other reason than to get him to leave you alone, because you were _anything_ but fine.

To top this nightmare of a month off, you were late, and not just in an overslept-and-overselling-excuses-to-Benson kind of way. Although it hadn't even been 24 hours and there was about a 96.4% chance you were just being catastrophically paranoid and making a mountain from a molehill, if there was one thing consistent in your life, it was your monthly reminder that you weren't incubating a small human being. You'd been exponentially stressed the last month, your diet had been shit, and exercise nonexistent. This was just some cruel joke that nature was playing on you, but given the circumstances, you couldn't help but panic. This was _not_ the time for your body to go rogue on you.

You were sure they all thought you were gambling again, but you'd decided you would rather them believe that than the truth. In some strange way, you almost wished gambling _was_ your biggest problem at the moment because it was something that you had the least bit of control over. It was just you against the cards. But now, with your life and your sanity hinging on the mercy of Nick Amaro and the frequency of your flashbacks, it felt like you were spinning out of control and there was nothing you could do except brace for the implosion.

Nick was good for you. For the first time in years, you felt like you could trust someone, like you could sleep beside a man and not have to keep one eye open. You trusted that he wouldn't hurt you. Now, you couldn't sleep at all. Why the _hell_ did you volunteer to go to Atlanta, because that had done nothing but make things exponentially worse. Any time you closed your eyes, visions of Patton and Atlanta danced through your dreams. _"I never could take no for an answer"_ and _"I'll see you soon"_ and that sickening way he always called you _darlin'_ as if he was either your boyfriend or your father.

He raped you.

You thought you could make a swift trip in and out of Atlanta. After calling your old captain Sam and apprising him of the situation, he'd promised you discretion and cooperation, but your endeavor still ended up pitting you face-to-race with the rapist you hadn't seen or spoken to in almost five years. Your _rapist._ You shuddered every time those words crossed your mind, because that wasn't you, you weren't going to be a victim anymore, and that chapter was closed.

"He's been staring at you too, y'know. When he thinks you're not paying attention." Fin leans forward and drops his voice even lower as he speaks.

"Hmph." You grunt, but your heart skips as you consider the implications of what Fin discloses. Secretly, you're dying to press him for the details, but you try to feign disinterest, praying he'll continue anyways.

"Go talk to him, 'Manda." He looks you square in the eye and offers a small nod. You roll your eyes and retrain your focus back to your DD5's that, unfortunately, weren't any closer to getting done.

Oh, God. You couldn't be pregnant. Could you? You and Nick had always been careful. Except that one night in Chicago when you'd gone out on an indeterminate double date with Lindsey and Halstead and you'd both had a little too much to drink and you'd laughed about how the department was paying for an extra hotel room that wasn't even being used. And then that other time... Okay. Maybe "careful" was a stretch.

Awesome.

So you were maybe, probably, hopefully not knocked up by a man whom you haven't civilly spoken to in three weeks, and at this rate, it just might be a pregnancy announcement that broke the stalemate. You'd swallow any pride you had left before you allowed that to happen. You look up just in time to see Nick disappearing into the locker room.

"I just have to pee," you announce to Fin as you stand up and push your chair back under the desk. You're not going to let him get any ideas that you might be about to take his advice.

It was true, though. You did have to pee, and oh shit, didn't you just go like an hour ago? Pregnant ladies peed all the time. _You're so knocked up,_ Amanda, or maybe it was the three cups of coffee it took you to get yourself moving this morning after the recurring nightmares had kept you awake all night. Pregnant women weren't supposed to drink coffee either. Damn it. You were really going to be a ball of sunshine in the mornings from now on if you couldn't have your caffeine fix.

"Hey." You call softly as you enter the room and gently close the door behind you.

He grunts something that sounds like a greeting as he continues to dig through his locker. He doesn't even acknowledge your presence in the room. The awkwardness settles in, but you're determined to push through.

"Did you have a good Thanksgiving?" You ask him as you hug your arms against your abdomen (still flat - you'd checked) and move to lean against your own locker, a safe distance away.

"Well, it would have been better if I didn't have to fly all the way to damn California just to see my daughter..." He lifts his head to look at you, and immediately softens his tone when he catches the look of defeat on your face. "Yeah. It was good to see Zara... She's already sad that LA doesn't get snow, so we took a few days and drove out to Yosemite so she could build a snowman." He chuckled at his own words, and you join in with a hesitant laugh, because you understood. Nick _hated _the snow; it was one of the first things you'd learned about him when he transferred into the department. "How was yours?"

You'd worked Thanksgiving, just like always. With Nick in LA, Olivia home with the baby, and Carisi insisting he couldn't work for some reason or another that he wouldn't elaborate on, that didn't really leave you much choice, and it's not like you were going to be doing anything other than ordering takeout and watching football anyways. Besides, it was probably a good thing for you to be otherwise occupied during all of the high stakes NFL games and college football rivalry weekend. Temptation wasn't your friend.

"I was here... me and Fin. We caught a case on Wednesday, a Hudson student claiming her RA raped her after everyone cleared out for the holidays. Not a lot of evidence though." _Not worth pursuing_, you sadly thought to yourself. You hated how you'd let the Atlanta state of mind get to you. "I took Sunday off, though. Took Frannie to the park... got a turkey leg for each of us from a street vendor so we'd have a little bit of a Thanksgiving celebration."

"I bet she loved that." Nick casually crosses his arms and shoots you a million-dollar grin. Gosh, you've missed that smile.

"Yeah… she did." You muse. "She's been acting kind of sad lately. I think she misses you."

"She does?" Nick tilts his head and smirks at you with a twinkle in his eye. Damn it, damn it, damn it, are you trying to flirt with him?

"Yeah, she told me last night, '_Hey, where's that Nick been lately, nobody scratches my butt like he does'"_ You try to play it off, waving your hand aimlessly around for emphasis as you chuckle out the words in a silly voice that sounds absolutely nothing like you'd imagine a dog to sound. You can feel the tomato red embarrassment spreading across your cheeks. Is awkwardness a sign of this hypothetical pregnancy too?

"Ah. Well... you can tell her I miss her too." Nick turns to slam his locker shut and starts toward the door. Your eyes drop to the floor and you sigh tiredly, frustrated that you went out on a limb to reconcile and he just doesn't seem to care about you, or your relationship, or this theoretical baby that you're still trying to wrap your mind around and he knows nothing about.

This is your life, in a nutshell. Amanda Rollins 101. You have something good, and you manage to screw it up, and that's just the way it is. You try and you fail. You were a rising star in Atlanta, and then _that night _happened, and you couldn't just keep your mouth shut and suck it up. Nick was another chance at your _something good, _and he'd slipped through your fingers because you couldn't control your tongue, or your emotions, or your alcohol consumption.

Much to your surprise, he turns around in the doorway. "Hey… I told Liv I'd stay late tonight; get caught up on paperwork from last week, but maybe I could stop by after I get out of here? You know... see Frannie?"

You look up at him and your eyes hold for a moment. You realize that you're not talking about your four-legged best friend anymore.

"Yeah... yeah. I think she would like that." You say with a hopeful smile.

Maybe you were wrong after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh, you guys are getting spoiled :) I'm going update crazy this week... that's what the flu will do to you! **

**I know this isn't what many of you were hoping for, but I'm trying to stick as close to the storyline as possible, and I'm pretty certain that Amanda and Nick have NOT had "the" conversation by the time the next episode airs. In fact, it looks like they're still as awkward as always, so trying to portray that. I, for one, am hoping for a happy ending Rollaro on the show though! Come on, Warren!**

**Please take the time to leave a quick comment - makes my day! **

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><p>You hop in the shower as soon as you get home, shaving your legs for the first time in two weeks. It's New York in December, and it's not like anyone else was going to be feeling them up anyways, so you'd slacked off on your least favorite feminine activity. Tonight, though, you were going to be prepared for the <em>just in case.<em>

And much to your delight, your more than welcome notice that you weren't incubating a tiny human had greeted you when you arrived home as well. You'd stuck the pregnancy test you'd prematurely picked up on the way home in the back of the cabinet, instead pulling out a fresh box of tampons and an industrial sized bottle of ibuprofen.

Turns out you still get something out of this unwelcome scare, even if it wasn't going to be accompanied by lullabies and dirty diapers – the courage to talk to Nick. You still weren't quite sure if that was to be a blessing or a curse. The answer was still to come.

You wrap a towel around yourself and shuffle to your closet, contemplating your plethora of wardrobe choices. You wanted cute, but classy. Presentable, but not trying-too-hard. Comfortable, but not I-haven't-gotten-off-the-couch-in-three-days. Flirty, but not expectant. Sliding on a tight-fitting pair of jeans that hugged your curves in all the right places, you contorted your body every which way in the mirror until you finally decided that your ass looked acceptable. You pull a loose-fitting purple v-neck over your wet hair and sigh. This will work.

You grab the perfume bottle and spray a few squirts on your neck and wrists. Wait. You never wear this stuff, and this is _Nick_ of all people. He's seen you in that Braves t-shirt with all of the holes in the most inconvenient places, and in those Loganville High sweatpants with the bleach stains that you can't bear to get rid of because they're so damn comfortable. He's seen you with third-day greasy hair, and no makeup. He's seen mascara streaked so far down your cheeks you looked like the fifth member of KISS. But here you are now, as concerned about your appearance in his eyes now as you were three years ago when you were both new in the squad room and you got a little giggly every time he crossed your mind.

You strip back down, and jump back in the shower, fiercely scrubbing 'Vera Wang Princess' off of your pale skin in the interest of not trying too hard. If not, then he's going to _know_ you're trying, _know_ what you're thinking about, and you don't want any of that. You also take the golden opportunity to run your razor back over that damn spot on the side of your knee that you always miss, another j_ust-in-case_ decision.

You slide the same clothes back on, and carefully apply a modest amount of makeup and hair products in a way that won't require a third shower of the evening. Nick's working late has given you a prime opportunity to be the typical girl that your relationship had never allowed much opportunity for. After all, your first time had been out of drunken comfort, and each subsequent time had carried that same ease for each of you. The typical primping that most girls anguish over had never concerned you much when it came to Nick. You were friends, you were adults, and you were past all of that.

But not tonight.

Frannie alerts you to the presence of footsteps in the hall before Nick even has a chance to ring the doorbell. You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your shirt, and tousle your hair a bit, and take a deep breath.

…

You don't know how it happens, but it doesn't take long until you're horizontal on the couch, arching your back as he slides his cold hands under the thin fabric of your shirt. Nick's mouth peppers open-mouthed kisses on your nick, and it's good, it's _so_ good, but this was not the plan. You couldn't keep doing this with him, getting in fights whenever he struck a nerve and you couldn't bring yourself to tell him why.

"Wait. S-Stop." You stammer as you try to wiggle out your way from underneath him.

He immediately shifts his weight and allows you to sit up. You pull your shirt back down and lean against the armrest of the couch, trying to catch your breath. As wound up as you are, it calms your heart when you contemplate how he pulls back so quickly when you say the word. You'd never had that before. Even with Nate, and your assortment of one-night stands and short lived relationships you'd dove headfirst into during your younger years and again after your assault, it was always a continuance of _'shh baby, it's okay' _until you'd insisted that you were serious, it was too much and you needed to stop, _now_. With Nick, it was automatic. He had a respect for you that you'd never felt before.

_"_Are you okay? Am I hurting you?" He asks, the panic obvious in his voice.

You immediately shake your head, letting him know that's not the case at all. In fact, quite the contrary. "No, No. I'm fine. Just, um… I want to.. I.. about that night. That case—" You start off hesitantly.

"Let's not talk about it. This… we're good, okay? Let's just… enjoy tonight. I've missed you." He smiles and kisses your forehead, then the bridge of your nose so tenderly it almost tickles.

You bite your lip and your eyes meet his. There's so much you were prepared to tell him tonight. You'd played every angle of this conversation out in your head, thousands of times. You know if you say the word, push that it's _not_ okay, he'll let you talk. So much has been ruminating in your mind the past three weeks, since he stormed out of your apartment and went to California and you took off to your old stomping grounds. Prepared you might have been, but ready? Willing? Brave? You came in to tonight ready for a fight. Ready to lay it all out, ready for him to _want _you to lay it all out.

But he made you hesitate, and you'd lost your momentum. If he wasn't going to force it, you weren't so sure you wanted to open that door. Things would undeniably be different. Every time he touched you, every time he slept with you, he'd be cautious. He'd subconsciously be worried he was hurting you, triggering you, making you think of him. _He'd_ be thinking of him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He tilts his head and brushes his fingers against your cheek.

"Nothing, it's… nothing." You force a tight smile and lean back in to kiss him, your fingers searching for the buttons on his shirt. You've tested the waters, and now you want out.

"You sure?" Placing his hands over yours, he stills your movements against his chest, successfully killing the moment you're trying to stir up as a distraction. He shuffles on the couch until he's propped up beside you, with an arm delicately draped around your shoulders.

"Yeah."

"Amanda..." His hand comes up and massages your scalp and your body melts further into his.

"Um… okay, when we were… fighting. You asked me what this was really about, and…" You trail off, and Nick's looking at you with an expression you can't quite figure out. He kisses your temple again, silently encouraging you to go on, it's okay. You take a deep breath, trying to quell your nerves and pretend like this was just any other case.

"Paula and AJ, they just reminded me of a case in Atlanta. I got a little… too involved in it. A woman reported that she was raped, by her boss, and it turned into this big mess, a big cover-up by the… company. She was harassed, threatened, called a liar… pretty much forced to recant, but it was too late. The damage was already done. She was already a "victim", and it ruined so much for her. It seemed like getting the police involved was worse for her than the actual assault. I just keep thinking, how we did that to Paula. We made her a victim and turned her life upside down and she didn't want it, and I've seen how that works. And I _know_ she's safer now, and I _know_ we had video evidence, but I just can't stop thinking about that girl in Atlanta."

_That girl was me, Nick. It was me. Please see that. Please see through my story… please ask questions. Please just ask me something right now so I can tell you more, because I can't right now. Please, Nick. I need you to do this, Nick. Please. _

He squeezes you a little tighter. "We all have cases like that, the ones that really get to us. The ones with kids, man…" He shakes his head. "I mean, even Simon Wilkes, I… I kept thinking about how those boys were the same age as Gil and it got to me."

"Yeah." You sigh, because he's missing it. You tried as well as you could, and he missed it completely.

"Did everything turn out okay for your vic?"

"Um… I don't really know." You tell him. It's the truth too, because you don't know if everything is okay, and you don't know if it's 'turned out' at all, because what you once thought was done and finished and tied off with a neat little bow has been ripped back open with one innocent trip back to Atlanta.

_It was nothing worth pursuing. _


End file.
